My real life meeting with Wolverine(kinda)
by Wolverana
Summary: Yeah, I know I already put this up, but a reviewer revealed a little too much bogus stuff about my personal life =)


Hello. I know you are probably wondering what the hell I am doing, but trust me, it's all good. I just wanted to tell you that something really weird happened to me not too long ago. And Yes, this has to do with Wolverine, as do all my Fan Fics, so shut up and read. Oh, and By the way, my next one is coming out soon, and I think it will be the best one yet. I'm really excited about it, so you should be too.

I always thought there was something wrong with me, like I was retarded or something, or maybe just a little slow, but now I think I'm hallucinating. It not your typical oh I'm stuck in the bloody desert and I'm seeing mirages and stuff.' It's like, hard core, I need medication BADLY' kinda stuff. 

Ahem. I was just interrupted in my train of thought by a two year old who thought it would be funny to rip the mouse off of my lap top, then, while I was attempting to piece my computer back together, he thought it would be funny to press every key possible on my bloody keyboard. I LOVE KIDS!

Anyway, back to my story. Well, it's not really a story, it's a documentary of what happened to me not long ago. Seriously. Well, as I hallucinated it anyway.

I am telling you this story as a fan fic, because surprisingly enough, it has to do with X-Men. Wow, huh? I guess I should tell you a bit about myself and what was going on when this happened. 

I'm a not too young, not too old student who works almost full time as a nanny, but that's not important. I'm an ex-sergeant from military school and a hard core survival instructor. Or I used to be anyway. I'm five nine, but I weigh a certain weight that makes me look kinda short I guess. I'm not fat, but I ain't skin and bones neither. I'm a bit muscular I guess, and I don't even work out. I guess it was the military school. 

But what the hell am I saying? This has nothing to do with nothing. For God's sake, I'm a bloody reject.

Anyway, so I was at this place that is quite famous in Canada, for donuts and coffee and shit, maybe you know it, Tim Hortons? Yeah. Well, I'm Canadian and I've been all my life, but as soon as I get enough cash I'm gonna move to Australia and marry a guy who looks just like Hugh Jackman did as Wolverine. Hubba hubba.

So, yeah, I live in Southern Ontario, and I went to a Tim Hortons and such, got my bloody coffee and exited through the door marked exit. Then I came to this side walk, right beside the restaurant and before the small road that leads to the Timmy's drive through. If yer Canadian, I suppose you'll know what the hell I'm talking about. 

Yeah, so just as I was about to cross this little drive through road is where my documentary starts. 

Ahem

So there I was, about to cross the road, but I couldn't cause there was this beat up ol' trucky thing coming up the drive through. So I stopped, wait'in for the guy to drive by so I could get to my car. Yeah, well, his window was rolled down and he sticks his arm out the window and waves me across the road. The arm was wearing red lumber jack plaid. I was like, hmmmm. 

I walked across the little road, staring at the guy through the windshield of his car. He was a stalky, kinda hairy guy, but NOT unattractive. I know that sounds like a COMPLETE oxymoron, but it's true, I swear!

I got to my car, carrying my coffee, looking over my shoulder, catching the guy's profile. He was an exact replica of Wolverine, I swear. But not the Wolverine from the movie, the one from the comics, sans yellow spandex. The only difference was that he didn't have a cigar hanging outta his face. It was just a cigarette, plain and simple, hanging from his lips as he leaned back against his seat, one arm outstretched towards the steering wheel, wrist hooked over the wheel and hand hanging limply, occasionally drumming something on the dash board. (The people who work at Timmy's are particularly slow, so that's why he was there so long and I had sufficient time to catch all this. He never noticed me looking at him. Gawking at him, sorry. 

Opening the door to my car, still looking at this guy, I tried to place my coffee into the cup holder, but when I set it down it cascaded over in the opposite direction of me and landed at the floor of the passanger seat, spilling every where. Great. It's a leased car. Damn. 

Momentarily confused, I swore rather profoundly, and I must say, I've been doing that a lot lately. Swearing I mean. 

Backing out of my car, I shook my head. What the hell. 

The guy hadn't progressed any further up ithe drive through lane, and it was clear that he was getting a little pissed. (He took the cigarette outta his face and jammed it in his ashtray, which was on the dashboard)

Backing up slightly, the guy let the dude who was parked beside me pull out, then turning his wheel visciously, he made a squealing turn into the space next to me. Be still my heart, he scared the hell outta me. (I was watching from the driver side of my car, and he was parking on the passenger side, so it really shouldn't have scared me that bad, but it did. 

Quickly, before he turned off his truck and got out, I closed the door to my car and hid behind it. He probably had already seen me, but I hid anyway, he was scary. My eyes just peeking over the edge of my window, I watched him get outta his car, slamming the door to his car and swearing about the service at the place. Not bothering to lock his truck, he turned, eyeing my car and it's predicament, what I had not yet discovered (yes, a flat tire) 

I caught my breath when I saw him crouch down, and hoping desperately that he didn't see my feet (which later proved to be futile) I watched him examine my tire. Flat. FLAT FLAT FLAT. I mean, come ON! Stuff like this never happens to me. **Sigh**

He got up smoothly, I could see his shoes, dark brown leather and heavily laced, the cuffs of his Khaki pants resting lightly on the top of his foot. Ducking down so I was practically on the ground, I could see the toes on his boots facing my direction, then turning slightly, they disappeared. He had gone into Timmy's. 

Exhaling deeply, fluffing my bangs ups, I stood. I have particularly bad knees due to years of military school abuse, (well, only four years to be exact) so I did a bit of moaning and groaning, and pushing my messy short hair out of my face, I caught a glimpse of the man disappearing into Timmy's. Keeping my eyes on the door of the donut place, I made my way around the car to the passenger side. Yes, my front tire was flat. So why should that be enough to spill my damned coffee all over a leased F***'n vehicle. 

Well, my friends, while my front passenger tire decided to flatten itself, my stupid passenger rear tire decided to follow suit, flat and loving it. Picking my lower jaw off the ground and kicking myself for not noticing before, I considered that it would be a good time to either start carrying quarters for a pay phone, or to seriously invest in a cell phone. (just to let you know, I opted for the quarter business. Cell phones are dorky. Really dorky. They are like posting huge signs on one's forehead that say LOOK AT ME, I'M THE BIGGEST REJECT ON THIS SIDE OF NOWHERE AND I HAVE THIS PHONE, WHICH I ONLY USE TO CALL MY DRUG DEALER OR MY MOM' nuf said)

So, quarterless and phoneless(it never occurred to me to use a calling card duh) I knelt down myself and examined my stupid tires. Flat. I was going to pay for new tires how? 

Being as fond of swearing as I am, I swore again, pushing myself to my feet and kicking the front tire as hard as I could. Inflicting more pain on myself than I could possible hope to conjure upon my retard car, I swore a third time, and walking to the trunk end of the hunk o' junk, I hoped up onto it a sat. It was a very tilted seat. Uncomfy too. 

It failed to dawn on me that the man who looked strikingly like X-Men's Logan, complete in Canadian Lumber Jack gear (which by the way isn't lumber jack gear at all. If you visit Ontario's Algonquin Park, and go see the Lumber Jack Exhibit (which actually isn't as boring as it sounds) you will see that they wear gross overalls and big boots and were very fashionably WRONG!)

Fashionably wrong? Gimme a break. There I was, sitting on a busted car in a pair of scrubs, a B.U.M t-shirt, Skater shoes, messy hair and a Columbia vest. I was fashionable baby *sigh* While the Wolvie Look-a-Like looked like your typical middle aged man, I looked like your typical under-middle-aged SLOB. Seriously, I can't remember the last time I brushed my hair. Really. 

Finally growing tired to trying to keep myself from sliding off the car, I hopped off. Needless to say, I nearly pissed myself when I found myself face-to-face with the Wolvester, or the man I thought looked like him. Ok, so he wasn't exactly 5'3, but he sure as hell wasn't 5'9 either. He might have been somewhere between 5'5 and 5'7. 

Anyway, as embarrassed as I am to say it, I nearly painted the man's shirt a nice shade of coffee, tumbling into him and knocking the tray of two coffees he held in his hand. My face burned and everything went dim, like it always does when I make a fool outta myself. Geeze. 

He looked me up and down, then gestured to my car. He was kind enough to ignore the fact that I'm a complete moron. 

"This your car?" he asked, his voice gruff, but he didn't have that twinge Logan has. Damn.

"Unfortunately, yes," I replied, or rather stammered as he placed the tray of coffee on the top of his truck and and moved around to the back. He was going to help me! 

"I gotta car jack and a wrench," his gruff voice came from behind his vehicle. "You gotta spare?" 

A spare? Like, a tire right? 

"Yeah," I replied, "It's in my trunk." I hoped. I hadn't been in my truck for a very long time. I always just stuffed stuff in the back seat. Unlocking it, I peeked it, and low and behold, there was a tire. Suitable for a bloody scooter! The thing was so small my bike tires were bigger. "It's really small." I said aloud, picking it up and holding it out for the man to see. He nodded. I mean, what the hell is that?

"It'll get you home. The idea is not to take up all the room in your trunk." He himself produced a small jack in one hand and a cross like wrench in the other. Nice. 

"I only have one tire though." I said. "If you gotta quarter or a cell phone," (I'd hate to picture this Wolverine man as a druggie who calls his mom). But he shook his head. 

"Spent all my change on coffee, and cell's are a waste of money. Sure they come in handy during that once in a lifetime accident, but the monthly bill shit is stupid." 

So there. 

"I've gotta spare tire of my own, it will be closer to the size of your other two tires, maybe bigger, maybe smaller." He went back to the back of his truck. I simply stood there jaw dropped again. Sputtering, I followed him around to the back of his truck.

"I can't take your bloody spare tire," I started, but stopped short when I saw what his truck was harbouring. 

"What are those?" I exclaimed, looking at several, long, black shiny, expensive cases of different sizes, silver buckles and combination locks keeping them closed. "You have weapon's in those or what?" The man simply laughed. A rough laugh, but not unpleasant. He reached for a case, a smaller one closer to the door, and fiddling with the combo, he popped the case open and produced a sleek, midnight blue, very technical looking tube. A telescope.

"All these things are telescopes?" I asked incredulously, and he nodded, putting the telescope back where he found it. "Are you an astronomer?" I asked dumbly, and he laughed again.

"No. I'm a super hero," he replied, now picking up the large tire from it resting place and hefting it out of his truck.

Now, there is no real explanation for what I said next, but it came out of my mouth none the less. 

"Really?" 

Duh. Idiot. What a retard. 

His eyebrows shot up, giving me a look as though I had seven heads or something. No, I just had seven times less the brains I should have. I recovered myself as quickly as I could, changing the subject.

"I can't take your tire, suppose you need it along the road." He just shrugged, turning and taking the tire to my car. 

"You need it more than I do right now." He replied, and crouching down once again, he set to work on my tires. 

I considered telling him that I would pay him for it, but it just sounded stupid in my head. He struck me as the sort of man who was not to be argued with. Once he set his mind to something, that was it. 

In ten minutes he was done. 

Standing up, not bothering to brush his knees off, he went to return the jack and wrench to his truck. I looked at my tires. Three normal sized tires and one midget. I felt so stupid. But then again, I always feel stupid. 

He came around again, looking at me. I was standing there standing at my car, brushing my hand through my completely messy hair, my face screwed up in thought. 

"Thanks," I finally spoke, turning to look at him. "I really appreciate it. I'd be really screwed if you didn't help me." He nodded slightly and reached up for the coffee he had left on his truck roof. Picking up one of the coffees he handed it to me. Confused, I took it. "And out of a coffee too."

"For the one you spilt in your car," he said simply, then nodding again, he opened the door to his truck and placing his own coffee down, he got in. He turned to me once more. "Take care," he said, and stumbling on my own thoughts, I thanked him again. Closing his door and turning on his engine, he pulled outta his spot and drove away, yet something caught my eye as he gave me one last gesture, a half salute, something glimmering on his hand. Three shining long claws. 

Ok, I just made that last part up, but the rest is true. I swear. That was my encounter with an Almost-Wolverine guy. 

Ok, now that I have proved I'm an idiot, I'm going to shut up now. 

The End. 

Ok, I know this story was way out there, but if you've liked my other work, maybe you'd like to go to New Order X-Men, my RPG. You can find it under Yahoo RPG clubs. Go there. I dare you. 


End file.
